Sister In-Law
by darthsydious
Summary: Mycroft is having a rough day. His sister in-law proves to be the mothering type after all. Mycroft/Molly friendship pairing.


Mycroft stepped down onto the empty runway, fighting back the urge to shiver at the cold east wind. If he wasn't frowning before, he was now as rain began to fall, pelting his wool coat. He was bone-weary, the conference in Russia took longer than expected, not to mention all the four meetings via webcam, three by telephone, and the constant prattling of the bloody Prime Minister, expecting an update every ten minutes, as if the situation could so easily be solved. Operating the British Government was an exhausting business and he was beginning to feel it.

He held himself upright, still remembering that he was in public, though at the moment his bones complained and begged him to sit back down. He thought tiredly of the schedule ahead of him. Anthea would surely have updated it by now, his day planner chock-a-block. Mycroft rubbed his forehead tiredly, finally lifting his eyes to where his car was idling for him. Waiting by his town car was his sister in-law. Correction: his heavily pregnant, sister in-law. The wind whipped around them, catching the underside of her coat and she shivered, feeling the cold air up the small of her back.

"As touched as I am to see you Molly, waiting in these elements cannot be good for my future niece or nephew," he said, doing his best to hide his exhaustion.

"It's your niece," she confirmed, and he quirked an eyebrow, reaching past her with his free hand to open the door. Ever the gentleman, he waited for her to step inside before climbing in after her.

"To what do I owe this special honor of you meeting me at the airport?" he queried, looking over his portfolio from the previous evening's meeting. "Sherlock isn't in trouble is he? He hasn't blown anything important up?"

"Not yet," she laughed. He didn't seem to know what to do with himself. Fatigue and good manners were at war at the moment. If Anthea were here, she would hand him another stack of papers for him to look over, remind him of ten or twenty meetings that were absolutely important and it was a matter of queen and country and if he did not make himself known at any of them war would break out or some such nonsense. But Anthea wasn't here, and there were no stacks of papers, no reminders of meetings, and nothing to keep his hands and mind occupied. "Anthea is at…wherever it is you work," Molly said, knowing he was wondering. "I know I don't have any business being here but…I thought it might be a nice change for you, all the work you do."

He was almost relieved that it was only Molly seeing him from the airport. He enjoyed keeping busy, of course, a man such as Mycroft, with such a mind as his must keep busy or else he would go mad. Still. Despite even his own insistence that he was not, he _was_ in fact only human, and he _did_ get tired. This trip was especially exhausting.

"You seemed like you could use a break," Molly went on. "There will always be paperwork for you; it can wait while you rest your eyes." Cradling her belly, she bent, digging through her purse, pulling out a thermos and a styrofoam cup. "Airlines always have rubbish tea, so I stopped by your house, and I made you a proper cuppa," carefully she filled the cup, handing it to him. "Sorry, I didn't think bringing a cup and saucer would be wise, knowing me in my state and my relationship with crockery at the moment," she smiled, holding out the cup to him. Befuddled, but grateful, he took it from her. "Sherlock is on a case," she said as he fixed his tea.

"And you're bored as you've just gone on maternity leave and there is little for you to do but worry for him," he said.

"Well, yes," she admitted, leaning against the seats. "But I also know that my brother in-law is a very busy man who hardly ever gets a break, for one who occupies only a minor position in the government," she smiled at his expression. "I don't know what it's like, your work, but I imagine it must be tiresome. And I know something of being absolutely run off your feet and there's no time to stop or even think about yourself. Someone usually has to make me stop, I suppose you're the same way," she said. "Think of it as a breather," she stretched her legs out, rubbing her belly. Mycroft was thoughtful then. Molly looked tired, he'd no idea what being pregnant felt like, but he knew the symptoms and they read clearly on her face. A quick glance at his reflection in the tinted privacy glass revealed he did in fact look as terrible as he felt (or at least terrible in his opinion). "I'd warrant you didn't even sleep on your return flight." Mycroft thought back on his twelve hour flight, he _hadn't_ slept. He hadn't slept since…good grief…had it been two days already? He knew he'd showered. Well there was that at any rate. "The driver has been instructed to take the long way back to your house," Molly said.

"Are you suggesting I simply _ride around London_ for half an hour when there is work to be done?"

"I'm suggesting you drink your tea, and then shut your eyes for the forty-five minutes it takes us to make this trip." She was leaning her head against the headrest. Cracking an eye open, she saw he was holding his phone, suddenly realizing it had not rung once since he'd stepped off the plane. "Anthea is taking your calls." Mycroft was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Molly Hooper Holmes had just hoodwinked him. With his own car and PA. Bloody hell. What was the world coming to?

Molly looked at Mycroft, really looked at him. Despite his pressed suit and air of indifference, there was less of stiffening in his posture, his shoulders positively sagged. Dark circles hung under his eyes, and he was pale from lack of a proper meal and rest.  
"It's alright, Mycroft," she said quietly. He looked over at her, slowly letting his 'ice-man' persona slip, just a little. "Let the world wait a little while, we've got everything under control," she paused. "For now at any rate. Besides, I'm seven months pregnant and you have to do what I say."

"Oh?"

"Hmm," she said. "Pregnant women are to be humored at all costs." He offered the tiniest of smiles, which he would convince himself later was a wince. He set his tea down in the cup-holder, sighing heavily. Tugging at his tie, he leaned back.  
"Buggar all then," he muttered and shut his eyes. Molly smiled in turn, shutting her own eyes. He was getting soft, letting Molly tell him what to do. He was about to tell himself to break off contact with his sister in-law for a good long while. But he fell asleep before he could complete the thought.

There was a gentle squeeze on his forearm and he opened his eyes. He sat up immediately, smoothing his tie. Molly's kind smile was there, she fought back the urge to mother him just a little and fix his tie for him, but she knew he wouldn't like it. He straightened it himself, checking his collar.

"We're two minutes from your house," she said. "I thought you'd want to neaten up a little before you head back out."

"Quite right," he smoothed back his hair, and then reached for the cup of tea, lukewarm now, but tea was tea and he didn't have time to even consider sending someone down to make a pot before he had to head to his office where Anthea was surely waiting for him with a dozen or so voice messages.

The car pulled to a stop outside his home and he stepped out, taking his case and portfolio.

"The car will take you home," he said, and then paused. "Thank you, Molly."

"You're welcome, be sure to get some proper rest, not just cat-naps in the back of your car."

"And you as well, it is doing my niece no favors, running all over God's green earth in your condition." She beamed up at him.

"Go save the world, and when you're done, I'll have Anthea come and pick up the jam roly-poly I made for you." The window rolling up cut off her warm smile and the car pulled away. Mycroft, for his part turned about and hurried inside to change and wash up before attacking the work that had piled up in his absence. Now and again, he thought of his sister in-law and the things she did for the family. She actually cared about people, and while he often reminded her that it was no strength, her love of people, she seemed to wield it as some kind of super power, drawing strength from the love she seemed to radiate, despite her own exhaustion. A person who cared made sure their family rested, ate, and were looked after.

Molly was much cleverer than she let on; she had a backbone after all, and was by no means the mousy pathologist people thought she was. For some very bizarre reason, Mycroft had let her get under his skin, just the way Sherlock did, and he felt an overwhelming need to look after her and see that she was safe. How annoying. Caring was not an advantage, but sometimes it simply snuck up on you and you had to bloody well live with it.

And if it meant Mycroft was sent a cellophane wrapped pastry on a monthly basis, well then. He'd just have to sit back and take it.


End file.
